The True Althanian Army v.s. The Brotherhood of Castigars (Osiris Legion)

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Three hooded figures looked down upon a map on the table. The map showed a town in the center. The town was technically considered a small town, but it took up a bit of the map since it was the main focus of said map. To the north of the town it showed farmland that led all the way up to the some hills, a place to observe the lands that the town sat upon. The south also had some farmlands that lead to a forest, the same forest in which they had set up camp. To the east of the town sat more farmland that lead to the ocean. A small harbor could be seen with a road that connected it to the town. And to the west was yet again more farmland that lead to a canyon pass, a babbling brook all that was left of the great river that made the canyon. The brook cut the entire map in half as it made it's way to the sea.

The map is slightly out dated, but only by a few hours. See, the town was now in ruins and the farms have been turned into nothing but dusty land. The reason for this, the three hooded figures have just attacked and destroyed the town alongside their army. They slaughtered the people of Helen-Var to draw out the one who would be the greatest threat, the Osiris Legion, an army that they would need to get rid of before they try to make their way to the rest of the kingdoms of Althanas. They will take the lands of the people who hurt they're brothers and cleans the world of their filth. The Thayne shall rue they day they created the Althanian race only to lock them up in the Tap. The people they so loved shall be the bait to draw them out so they can be destroyed. The Althanians will rule over the land as they should of and nothing would deter them! They will rise and they will conquer!

More than a hundred men were abandoned in the village of Helen-Var; a place where Oyster fishermen and farmers had plied their trade for decades. They were drunk and there was nothing to be done for them. A score of women stayed with them. They were drunk too. Not just drunk, but insensible. The men had broken into a tavern’s storeroom and found great barrels of last year’s vintage with which they had diluted their misery. Now, in a bleak dawn, they lay about the broken town like the victims of a plague, amongst the dead and dying.

The drunks were Coronian soldiers, guarding the town, who had survived the initial attack. Unlike the rest of the islands forces, they had joined the Coronian army either because of crime or desperation, and because the army gave them a third of a pint of rum a day. Last night they had found heaven in a miserable tavern in a miserable Coronian town on a miserable flint road that led to the sea. They had got drunk, so now they would be left to the mercy of whoever was unfortunate enough to happen upon them.

A tall Lieutenant in the colours of the 95th Foot moved among the bodies which lay in the stable yard of the plundered inn, just west of the entrance to the town. His interest was not in the stupefied drunks, but in some wooden crates that had been jettisoned from an ox-drawn wagon to make space for the wounded and the dead. The crates, like so much else that the Brotherhood of the Castigars was too short handed to carry, would have been left behind, except that the Lieutenant had discovered that half of them contained gunpowder. He was trying to salvage it for their cannons. The other half, containing Oyster shells, were stacked up against the tavern wall. He had already filled the packs and pouches of the oxen left in the village with the powder, ones they had commandeered for the Brotherhood; now he and one other soldier tried to cram the last of it into the panniers of the ruined town’s last ox. There was still quite a lot left over.

One of the rank and file of the 95th, Gideon, finished the job and then stared at the stack of surplus crates. “What shall we do with them, sir?”

“Burn it all.”

“Bloody hell!” Gideon gave a brief laugh, then gestured at the drunks in the yard. “There is enough powder to kill them all!”

“If we don’t, those mages will come back for the crates and they’ll do it, or even the Imperials if they think we are responsible for this massacre," The Lieutenant had a slash of a scar on his left cheek that gave him a broodingly savage face. “Do you want the Coronians to start killing us with our own powder?”

Gideon did not much care what either of the enemy forces did. At this moment, he cared about a drunken girl who lay in the yard’s corner. “Pity to kill her, sir. She’s a nice little thing.”

“Leave her for the mages.”

Gideon stooped to pull open the girl’s bodice to reveal her breasts. She stirred in the cold air, but did not waken. Her hair was stained with vomit, her dress with wine, yet she was a pretty girl. She was perhaps fifteen or sixteen years old; probably married a soldier, followed him off to whatever god forsaken battle lay ahead. Now she was drunk, and the enemy would have her. “Wake up!” he said.

“Leave her!” All the same the Lieutenant could not resist crossing the yard to look down on the girl’s exposed form. “Stupid bitch,” he said sourly.

It was then that Major Paikuhan, one of Shinsou Vaan Osiris’s trusted confidents in the 95th, appeared in the yard’s entrance. “Lieutenant!”

The Lieutenant turned. “Sir?”

Paikuhan had a small, wiry moustache and a malevolent expression. “When you’ve finished undressing women, Lieutenant, perhaps you’d be good enough to join the rest of us? The 95th waits two miles north. Only the Immortals are supposed to be here.”

“I was going to burn these crates first, sir.”

“Fuck the crates, Lieutenant. Just hurry up!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Unless you’d prefer to stay here? I doubt the army would miss you, with that attitude.”

The Lieutenant did not reply. Six months ago, when he had joined the 95th Foot at Whitevale, no officer would have spoken thus in front of the men. But now the sudden situation the Brotherhood found themselves in, what with Storm Veritas aligning himself with a separate sect within Whitevale and the approaching mage army threatening to bring their power to bear against Shinsou’s contingent, had jaded tempers and brought hidden antagonisms to the surface. Men who would normally have treated each other with wary respect or even a forced cordiality now snapped like rabid dogs. Paikuhan hated the Lieutenant. It was a livid, irrational and consuming hatred, and the Lieutenant’s annoying response was to ignore it.

“Who the hell does he think he is?!” He exploded to his captain, who rode alongside him on a beautiful brown horse. “Does he think the whole 95th will wait for him?!”

“He’s just doing his job, isn’t he?” Captain Murray was a mild and fair man.

“He’s not doing his job, he’s gaping at some whore’s tits. This town is supposed to be under surveillance in case the people responsible come back. Blowing up crates? Might as tell the whole bloody world we’re here.”

“Well, perhaps that’s what Shinsou wants.” Captain Murray shrugged.

Abandoning both the drunks and the remainder of the town’s ruination to the lap of the gods, the Lieutenant emerged from the tavern yard, waving Gideon and ten other men to his side before joining Paikuhan and Murray on the road north. It began to rain; a sleet-cold rain that spat from the east onto the three hundred soldiers of the enigmatic Immortal division who waited in the village street. These men were the Brotherhood’s most advanced forces; a deadly reconnaissance unit sent in ahead to assess every situation and relay information back to the main forces a couple of miles behind. Their unshaven faces betrayed the discipline evident in their stance. Somewhere ahead of them was the army who did this, the same army that Shinsou had identified on his flank just the other day.

Their job was piquet duty: to be the eyes and ears of the Brotherhood in this part of the world until such time that Shinsou decided Helen-Var was no longer of strategic value to them. They were unsure of the reason that their leader had sent them to a wrecked shell of a settlement in the first place, when the enemy had already seemingly bolted, but they never questioned the decision. They had to trust in their leader; that there was a plan collectively bigger than their miniscule role in the battle. He clearly knew something they didn't, yet.

The eleven members of the 95th Foot begin moving two miles north to meet with the bulk of Brotherhood forces, taking three Oxen and four extra volley's worth of gunpowder for their guns. This will take one post to arrive. Three hundred men from the Immortals stay put in Helen-Var on piquet duties.

Last edited by Shinsou Vaan Osiris; 02-07-2018 at 05:44 PM.

You say this only makes me incomplete - I'm cancelled out and rendered obsolete - Tell the mad chameleon he's not welcome anymore - I know what I'm looking for - Somewhere close - Somewhere safe - Somewhere I know - I know I'll never live in chains

The military head of the White Clan, Spy Master Heus the White, watched as the group of 11 people left the tavern yard. However, at that moment was when it decided to rain. The rain revealed that there were many more invisible humans lining the streets of the town. If it wasn't for the fact that he led units that also could be invisible, he probably wouldn't have noticed.

Now, however, he had a problem. The rain made it impossible for his units to move from the buildings that they had taken shelter in when the enemy entered the town. They had dodged out of sight every time one got close or even blink out of existence, some of them had already used up to about two minutes of their two hours that they could for the day, now with this infernal rain, they would easily be noticed just like the invisible units that lined the streets. There was no way of sending the scout out and they didn't have any of the shape-shifting Grey Mages set up in town. Most of them were out in the fields probably waiting for the signal to shift.

The Greens were on defense with their trees growing in random places around the forest in order to blend in. The Browns have already used their ability to make the land between the town and the forest difficult to cross and the others are waiting for them to send word of the enemy's arrival. Add in the fact that they can probably see the smoke, they could doom themselves by attacking early he had to figure out a way to get a messenger out to them without alerting the enemy. He thought but couldn't come up with a solution. He hoped one of his commanders would think of something.

True Althanian Camp:

The three hooded figures looked up when the military head of the Green Clan, Willowlock the Green, came into the tent.

“Sirs,” he said with a bow, “one of my troops from the edge of the forest has mentioned smoke being seen rising from the ruins. Is that our signal to attack?”

The military leader of the Gold Clan, Lintagoko the Gold, looked at his two companions, Rogrolma the Brown and Lovana the Magenta before he turned back to Willowlock.

“No,” Lintagoko said with a voice of authority, “you hear the rain?” he asked as Willowlock nodded. “It is probably preventing the whites from using their ability. Bring me Jagaer the Pink, we have a job for the Pink Clan.” Willowlock bowed again then left. It wasn't long till a pink-robed Althanian was standing in the tent.

“You called me sirs?” Jagaer asked as he bowed to the three commanders.

“Ye Jagaer,” Rogrolma said with a nod, “We need you to send ten of your wolves to the village ruins to get in contact with Spy Master Heus the White and/or assess the situation in said ruins. Have them pretend to be a pack of wolves scrounging for food. Once they are done, have them eat whatever they want and even drag some corpses back into the forest like they would bring food to the rest of the pack. Once that is done we will receive all the info we need.”

Jagaer nodded then bowed before he made his departure. The three then looked at each other then back to the map.

“The weather is not on the white's side today my friends,” Rogrolma said to his two friends.

“Nor for us my friend,” Lovana said with a frown. She looked over the map. “The brook might flood to any extent, even to the point of becoming a river, especially in the canyon. The brook will show signs of the river rising so we should be able to retreat if there is danger. We should have one of the Flame Clan keep watch a bit up the canyon on the top to keep watch on that. He will use his fireball to signal a flood.”

Both Lintagoko and Rogrolma nodded. Lovana then smiled and said, “I will go and get one of the flames to do that. After all, they will probably need some convincing.” She then walked out of the tent while the two males watched her.

“Lucky boy,” Rogrolma said with a sigh. Lintagoko couldn't help but agree with him. They then turned back to the map and waited for word from the Jagaer.

All 555 White Clan Members are trapped inside the buildings of Helen-Var

There are 555 fruit producing trees being controlled in the forest by the Green Clan Members.

All the Brown Clan members have already used their ability to make the land between the forest and the ruins difficult for horses to get through.

Ten of the Pink Clans have summoned their wolves which will arrive at the Ruins of Helen-Var in one turn.

A single Flame Clan Member, after a round of "fun", is on his way to the canyon to watch for flooding, he will arrive at the base of the canyon in one turn then take another two turns to climb canyon walls to get to a safe vantage point. He will be vulnerable during these last two turns.

The village of Havre Lesaint, two miles north of Helen Var. Brotherhood main base.

The Brotherhood of the Castigars main forces could be heard long before they came into sight as they passed through the Whitevale-loyalist Coronian village of Havre Lesaint. Children clung to their mothers' skirts and wondered what dreadful things made such noises. The hooves of the great steeds mixed with the traces and chains, the hollow rumbling of rickety wooden wheels of supply carts, and above it all the crashes as tons of brass, iron and timber bounced on the settlement’s broken paving. Then they were in view; the 95th Foot, the Ea and Elish Cavalry and their outriders, the remaining Immortals, cannons, the Reavers and the Mirage and Jester brigades, all of them to advance the sloping fields of Corone to pound their enemies into oblivion. Once, they did it running, swamped by the native Imperials and slaughtered like sheep. A century had passed since then. Now, they would do it again, this time with Shinsou Vaan Osiris at the helm to reclaim their place in history.

A second Castigar War.

Mothers held their smallest children and pointed at the Reavers, and their leader, and boasted that these soldiers would make the Imperials and the armed insurrection led by the three Thaynes wish they had stayed in hell and suckled souls, which was all they were fit for. And the cavalry! The civilians applauded the trotting ranks of black and navy green uniforms, the polished lances and crossbows of their soldiers unsheathed for display in Havre Lesaint’s newly liberated streets and squares. The fine dust from the horses' hooves was a just small price to pay for the sight of the splendid Brotherhood regiments who, the townspeople said, would chase anyone who opposed them clean over the plains and back into the sewers.

Who could resist this army? From Whitevale in the north and Helen Var in the south, from the ports on the western coast, they were coming together and marching on the road that led to Radasanth, and through every enemy. That didn’t just mean the Imperials, either; that meant the three Thaynes and their mage contingent, that meant Storm Veritas and his mutineers, that meant William Arcus and his band of cultists. Shinsou was worried it even meant Philomel Van der Aart and the Gilded Lily, if she decided he was her enemy. He would pray nightly to the gods that situation would never arise.

The Telgradian, head held tall and eyes steeled on the horizon as he headed the impressive column of men atop his horse Slepnir, was not so confident, though, that everything would go his way.

True, he had enough forces at his disposal to deal with the Imperial army but, marching into lengthening shadows, he wondered what lay beyond Whitevale’s safe borders, the next town of Helen Var and the last before the Radasanthian frontier. Soon they would face these mages with their horrific powers; the main threat of the current battlefield, the hordes that could turn the finest soldiers of their world into so much mincemeat. The townspeople of Havre Lesaint were for now impressed, at least by the cavalry and the 95th Foot, but to experienced eyes the troops gathering around the Brotherhood’s Osiris Legion were pitifully few and the hordes to the south, the numerous forces out to stop them, frighteningly big.

The Brotherhood army that awed the children of Havre Lesaint would not frighten those factions. Not yet, anyway.

Harper Malley, waiting for orders in his billet on the outskirts of town, watched the cavalry sheath their weapons as the last spectators were left behind and then he turned back to the job of unwinding the dirty bandage from his thigh. The leader of the Immortals grunted. The jagged cut had become nine inches of puckered scar tissue, clean and pink against the darker skin. That bastard Imperial had nearly ended him, that jagged spear halfway through a massive down-stroke when Shinsou's rushing blade had lifted it from the ground and the soldier’s masked grimace, framed by the steel helmet, had turned to sudden agony. Harper had twisted desperately away and the javelin, aimed at his neck, had sliced into his thigh to leave another scar as a memento of sixteen years of survival. It had not been a deep wound but the monstrously built man had watched too many men die from smaller cuts, the blood poisoned, the flesh discoloured and stinking, and the doctors helpless to do anything but let the man sweat and rot to his death in the shit houses they called field hospitals. A handful of maggots did more than any army doctor, eating away the diseased tissue to let the healthy flesh close naturally. He stood up and tested the leg. "Thank you, Arius. Good as new."

"Pleasure's mine. Need you fit for briefing, after all." Arius, the wiry, scholarly man who took the title of Shinsou’s right hand, patted the cloaked shoulder of his brother in arms.

Harper pulled on the black overalls he wore instead of the regulation green of the Brotherhood. He was proud of the overalls with their black leather reinforcement panels, a uniform fit for an officer of the mighty Immortals. It was all he had; his uniform and what he could carry on his back and under his arms. Harper Malley knew no home other than the battlefield, no family except for his brethren, and no belongings except what fitted into his supply pouches. He knew no other way to live and expected that it would be the way he would die, even if it were to be here.

Command HQ: Twenty minutes later

Harper Malley looked out of the window into the town square of Havre Lesaint, soaked in afternoon sunlight, and made an acute observation.

“Here comes our executioner."

“Executor, Harper."

Harper ignored Arius’s reproof about Shinsou’s title. He and the bookworm beside him had been together too long, shared too much in life and death, and Shinsou’s head of intelligence knew precisely what liberties he could take with his collegue. "He's looking more cheerful than ever, Arius. He must have another suicide mission for us."

"I don’t doubt it." Arius nodded, pushing the rim of his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “I heard he has his eyes on Helen Var.”

Harper, his huge hands gently stripping the hilt of a nearby sword out of habit alone, pretended not to hear the remark. He knew what it meant but the subject was a dangerous one. Shinsou just wanted to get a long wait out of the way and free his people from the shackles of Imperialism, as well as bringing some normality back to their lives after the Brotherhood had split into two factions. The Telgradian now commanded the both the 95th Foot and also the remnants of a company of Reavers who had been cut off by Corone’s army from the rearguard of the Brotherhood during its retreat from the outskirts of Whitevale the winter before. It had been a terrible campaign, mostly in weather that was like the traveller's tales of the poles rather than northern Corone. Men had died in their sleep, their hair sometimes frozen to the ground, while others dropped exhausted from the march and let death take them. The discipline of the army had crumbled and the stragglers were easy meat for the Imperials who murdered their exhausted mounts at the heel of Shinsou’s army. The rabble was saved from disaster only by the Reavers and the 95th, who kept their discipline and fought on through the brunt of the worst weather.

The door of the ruined cottage slammed open and Shinsou Vaan Osiris stepped into the room. He looked and dressed like a proper officer for a change; garbed in black and green uniform with his drakescale navy green coat over the top. He grinned as he took off his coat and nodded at Harper’s leg, ignoring Arius’s dark glare. "The warrior restored then? How's the leg?"

Harper nodded. “I’m ok, sir.”

Shinsou, placing his backside on a nearby chair and putting his boots up on the creaking table in front of him, glanced at both men. "Good. I have a treat for you; one that even a heathen like you might like." He took a dark bottle out of his sack and raised an eyebrow to Arius. "You don't mind?"

Arius shook his head. Shinsou set the bottle on the table and pulled the cork. Harper grabbed a glass, and took a swig.

"Fill me in on the situation in Helen Var." Shinsou asked.

"Major Paikuhan and ten others have just arrived back from there," Harper began, seating himself on a dusty window-ledge, “They managed to salvage some gunpowder before anyone else got to it. It was in those crates that dropped from our wagons when we evacuated the wounded. The Immortals have a piquet set up around the whole town; if anything happens there we need to know about, I’ll know instantly thanks to my link with them. At the moment, no sight of anyone or anything.”

“Good,” Shinsou replied, “I want the remaining Immortals to split south, east and west. A hundred south and fifty-fifty split east and west. I want to know who is in the area, and I especially want to know more about this mage contingent I keep hearing so much about. I also want you to bring the guns we have to just within nine hundred meters of Helen Var, and send the Mirage division in full strength to the town. I want them in full 95th colours.”

"That's very interesting." Arius's eyes lighted up, his lips parting for the first time since Shinsou entered the room. "What about the Elish cavalry, Reavers and the 95th?"

"Put them on standby. Oh, and most importantly of all, send word that I want every available man at Helen Var who isn’t on billet duties to gather the Oyster shells there." Shinsou grinned, gulping down a vast quantity before passing it to Harper, who snatched it away and supped. "I understand Helen Var is, or was, a town for Oyster fishermen, yeah? Get the men to stockpile as many as they can find."

Men and supplies moved in first post arrive at Havre Lesaint. Remaining two hundred Immortals sent to scout the south, east and west in divisions of a hundred to the south, fifty to the east and fifty to the west. The entire Mirage division is sent in full strength to the town and activates their ability, appearing as a 2,000 strong 95th Foot. The artillary pieces in full strength are moved to the northern outskirts of Helen Var, 700 metres away from the centre of the town. All above movements to take one post to move into position.

Last edited by Shinsou Vaan Osiris; 02-08-2018 at 05:23 PM.

You say this only makes me incomplete - I'm cancelled out and rendered obsolete - Tell the mad chameleon he's not welcome anymore - I know what I'm looking for - Somewhere close - Somewhere safe - Somewhere I know - I know I'll never live in chains

As the ten wolves approached the ruins they stopped and sniffed the air to see if they could sense danger. The rain that continued to pour down upon them, however, prevented them from being able to pick up any scents. So, with great caution, the wolves crept into the city. As soon as they entered they split up and began to scavenge. Some went into the homes while others began to feast on the bodies that were still left around. Three had made their way to the tavern yard and found the few drunks who were asleep from all the booze. The three pounced on their victims and started to tear into them. The clothes they wore, of no use compared to the jaws of the wolves.

Meanwhile, the pack leader and Jagaer's personal summon, Rafril, made his way into the building that he knew Heus would be. He climbed the stairs to the second floor and sat behind Heus as the spymaster watched the activity below. He smiled as he heard the screams of the drunks who were still in the tavern. He then turned to the wolf and said, “Let the camp know that there are currently two hundred humans here and more possibly on the way. Also, howl to let the Greys know that they are to transform. I've got a feeling there are more of those invisible gloks on their way and they will most likely try to scout out the surrounding lands. We don't want them to be spotted. Now go to the tavern and have fun.”

With a nod, Rafril made his way out of the building and met up with the others who started to gather at the Tavern. The Wolves then began to eat their fill of the drunks. It wasn't long however when Rafril perked his ears and silenced all the other wolves with a growl. The wind was blowing from the north and carried on it was the sound of heavy footsteps. Rafril then let out a mighty howl and grabbed hold of one of the men he had been gorging on. The others did the same as they began to drag the people out of the town and across the rocky terrain towards the woods to “finish their meal and feed the pups”. All that was left in the town was two drunks who escaped the “feast”, the White Clan, and of course their invisible adversaries.

Rocky Terrain between Helen-Var and Woods:

Upon hearing the howl of none other than Rafril, Helbergad the Grey called sent the signal to set up the ambush. With that command, all the Grey Clan transformed into many forms of rocks, none like the other as they waited for the enemy to fall into their trap.

Wolves leave Helen-Var dragging their "Food" behind. They will arrive back at camp in one turn.
The Grey Clan has transformed into many boulders to blend into the scenery and ambush any who are unlucky enough to stumble upon them. They have one hour before they will have to transform back into their normal selves.

The Flame Clan member who was sent out as a scout to watch the canyon for floods had finally made it to the top of the canyon. He was exhausted from the trek to the canyon base then the climb up the canyon walls, but he was finally here, he could now rest. Or at least, he could if he didn't have a job to do. So it was with a sigh that he made his way along the top of the giant crack in the ground further inland to find a suitable place to rest and keep an eye on the brook that could flood from the rain. As he trekked westward he noticed that the rain was only getting heavier and it was making him miserable. Like all Flame Clan Mages, he hated the rain. It had a tendency to put out the fires they started. Sure, it didn't affect the fireballs themselves since those were fueled by magic, but fires that the created was almost always snuffed out by the water falling from the sky. Not to mention the fact that the rain-soaked into their robes making them heavy, wet, cold, and honestly quite uncomfortable to wear. But he had an important task to do so he would just have to deal with the discomfort and hoe he didn't get sick later. So it was with this in mind that he found himself a spot to sit and keep watch over the canyon.

Flame Clan Mage arrives at the top of the canyon and hunkers down in the heavy rain to watch for flooding.

Thanks for being patient guys. Lye has asked me to jump in and judge round one. I just have a few preliminary things to go over first. Because no threads achieved 10 posts, I'll be using the condensed rubric. I did markdown individual category scores if you want to know them, but I'll only be provided generic commentary here. Per Lye, I also did not factor in activity into scoring. Finally, and most importantly, don't be alarmed by the low scores. A good story requires a beginning, middle and end. Your story barely started. Character scores factor in interaction. There was very little. In other words, be proud of your work, because everyone was trending well had the threads continued.

Kitsune
Story - 10/35 - No one appreciates a "take over Althanas with a cryptic underground society" storyline more than I do, but it was difficult to get involved. The setting was boring and you used half of your first post to set it. Pacing of the story was fine, but the pacing of the writing made posts drag on. More on this later, but vary your sentence structure a bit more.
Character- 11/35 - You introduced a number of new players without context into your story. Though it wasn't abundantly clear by Shinsou, it was my understanding that the drunks were the Castigars (i.e. units) rather than NPCs so killing them may have been bunnying. Because it was unclear I did not punish you for this, but in the future keep in mind that the judge won't necessarily read the discussion thread for more information. Otherwise, action was just some troop movement.
Writing - 14/30 - I didn't notice many grammatical errors, but you need to work on varying sentence structure to control the pace of your writing. Commas should also be added for natural breaks in reading.

Total - 35/100

Shinsou
Story - 10/35 - I enjoyed how your introduction played off of Kitsunes in that put yourself well after the initial carnage. It was clever and unexpected based on the first post. Beyond that, adding rain was a solid touch, but there was little more. Your pacing was marred by putting too much content into two posts, though this might have been remedied should the action have picked up.
Character - 13/35 - Solid dialogue with good pacing. I didn't particularly appreciate your meta jab at smut (particularly given you literally made the "whore" a child), but I suppose it worked within the confines of the post. Your action was subtle, making the thread potentially breathe as a cat and mouse. This probably would have paid dividends in a completed thread.
Writing - 18/30 - Your writing was clear. Run-ons were the difference between your score and the highest of the round.

Total - 41/100

Shinsou advances!

Thanks to Kitsune for participating and being active. Lye has not let me know how he plans to handle rewards, but I will add them when I get word.